


Headache

by iriswests



Series: Bane & Santiago International [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assistant!Simon, Businessman!Raphael, Happy Ending, M/M, Raphael POV, Suicide Attempt, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 17:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6479428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswests/pseuds/iriswests
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raphael feels as if he's known this headache his entire life. It's not exactly ideal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headache

**Author's Note:**

> writing in raphael's pov is exhausting and a drastic contrast from alec's pov. therefore, there's less humor in this fic than in my last one and a lot more repressiveness, as raphael tends to hide from literally anything that makes him seem human
> 
> to take into consideration: these characterizations are based off of what i've seen on the show, since i've never read the books. this was supposed to be short and sweet and this happened idk the words got away from me THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS I CANNOT BE TRUSTED
> 
> enjoy this, maybe, if you want

Raphael feels as if he’s known this headache his entire life.

It’s not exactly ideal.

“Did I not,” he begins, voice quiet and leveled, controlled in a way he’s learned to keep it long, long ago. “Ask for these reports _three_ hours ago?”

The woman before him is slight, blonde. She looks nervous and terrified. “Yes,” she squeaks, and Raphael rubs at his temple.

“And why are they only in my hands _now_?” he asks, holding her gaze.

The girl makes a strangled sound.

He opens his mouth, ready to speak again, when his phone rings.

The girl’s entire face pales, but something in her shoulders relaxes, as if she knows she’s been saved by the bell. Raphael frowns at the phone; picks it up only when he knows it’s got one ring left in it, out of nothing but pure spite.

“Simon,” he answers, tone clipped. “What.”

“You have _the face_ ,” he replies, sounding far too cheerful for someone speaking so familiarly to their boss. “Please don’t fire her before you’ve had your lunch.”

Raphael’s eyes flicker over to the glass window. Simon is there, sitting behind his desk, and when their eyes meet he grins stupidly and waves. Raphael is disgusted.

“I will do as I please,” he reminds Simon. Simon’s bottom lip turns outward, and it resembles something close to a pout.

“It’s almost here,” he promises. “Just wait until you’ve eaten before you make any drastic decisions.”

Raphael feels as if he’s known this headache his entire life.

It speaks, and it dictates his meal times, his schedule, his decisions. Raphael pretends to have control of what he says and does, has even managed to convince others of the same, but nothing that happens happens without having gone through this headache, and nothing that will ever happen will happen without the same.

He hangs up. Simon grins in triumph.

“Get out of my sight,” he snarls at the blonde girl, and for all that the reports were late, she doesn’t appear to be stupid. She turns and scrambles out the door, tail between her legs.

Simon says something to her as she scurries by, then he turns to look at Raphael through the glass window. Offers him two thumbs up.

Raphael glares at him, then points at his watch. Lunch.

Simon rolls his eyes and picks up the phone, presumably to hurry his order up.

And Raphael turns back to his computer, feels his face clear, and his headache clear with it.

**

Raphael feels as if he’s known this headache his entire life.

“I said under _no circumstances_ —”

“I know what you said,” Simon interrupts, with the audacity of someone who presumes they are important enough to speak over him. “But I figure your well-being should be a little more important than impressing some Macho Business Men.” He speaks the title as if it is official, as if that’s what their names are and they are nothing but fleeting figures in Raphael’s life, anyway.

Raphael holds out his palm. “This merger could mean less work hours for you,” he reminds Simon, who drops a small blue pill and a larger yellow one onto his extended hand. “I don’t know why you’re sabotaging it at every turn.” He holds out his other hand, and Simon quickly hands him a glass of water.

“They look shifty,” Simon admits, as if Raphael’s asked for his opinion of the character of these men. “I don’t know why you’re _not_ trying to sabotage it.” Raphael swallows the pills.

“I don’t care for their character,” Raphael replies smoothly, handing the now-empty glass back to Simon. “I care for their money.”

Simon looks on at him, disbelieving. “I know that’s not true.”

Raphael waves him off. “No more interruptions,” he warns, turning to walk back into his office.

“No promises,” Simon quips, and Raphael ignores the pounding in his head as he walks back inside, charming smile perfectly in place, not a wrinkle on his suit.

**

In the end, the merger doesn’t work out. Raphael tells Simon they simply weren’t offering enough money, and the future profits weren’t looking so positive, either.

Simon’s only response is a knowing smile.

**

Magnus Bane reenters his life with open arms soon after the failed merger.

Raphael walks willingly and helplessly into them.

“You’ve gotten wider,” Magnus observes as they pull apart, a coy smile on his lips. “I didn’t think you had any time to work out. Isn’t your life dictated by your work?”

Raphael’s smile is crooked. “That sounds like an accusation,” he says, accusingly. “As if you’re not the exact same.”

“I make time for the important things in life, dear,” Magnus defends himself easily, sitting on the chair across from Raphael’s own. “You look sick, regardless.”

“Headache,” Raphael explains, as he walks across the desk to sit at his own chair. Magnus makes a strange sound with the back of his throat.

“Why is it every time I see you, you have a headache?” he asks, though he sounds amused, more than anything. Raphael isn’t surprised. Magnus finds everything anyone does amusing. Raphael did once, too. He has, perhaps, changed the most of the two of them. He doesn’t mind – feels like the person he once was with Magnus around, and maybe that’s all that matters.

“Maybe it’s because my headache never goes away,” he replies, and Magnus looks momentarily alarmed.

“That can’t be right,” he says, leaning forward in his seat. “When you said you were well on the phone – you weren’t lying?”

He’s staring at Raphael with an intensity only Magnus Bane could conjure – an intensity Raphael only dreams of being able to mimic.

“I wasn’t lying,” he lies smoothly. “I am well.”

Magnus looks suspicious, and so Raphael changes the subject.

“Your beau – what’s his name again?” Raphael knows his name, but he loves watching Magnus’s expression turn slightly annoyed every time Raphael pretends to forget. He’s snapping his fingers when he feigns remembrance. “Ah, that’s right. Alexander. How’s he fending?”

His friend shakes his head. “I’m going to marry him,” Magnus says, sounding far, far away. “Raphael, I only hope one day you can find someone who knows you as well as Alexander knows me.”

He’s interrupted by the phone. Raphael’s amused smile is wiped from his face, and he holds up an apologetic finger towards Magnus as he picks it up. “Simon,” he answers. “What.”

“So all of the memos came back in Comic Sans,” Simon forgoes the greeting, as he usually does. “I think someone either thought it’d be funny to change it or genuinely can’t see the terribleness of that font.”

Raphael blinks at Simon through the glass window. He’s hurriedly typing on the computer. “So fix it,” he says.

“Already done,” Simon replies. “You’re not opposed to Arial, are you?”

Raphael rubs at his forehead, looks down at a pile of papers on his desk. “If you’ve already fixed it,” he starts slowly. “Why are you calling me?”

There’s a pause. This, this _is_ strange. Simon doesn’t pause. He doesn’t ever leave a gap of silence between them. Simon always has an easy quip ready, never leaves Raphael hanging, wondering.

Raphael looks up. Simon is playing nervously with some papers on his desk, but he is doing nothing of importance with them. Perhaps if Raphael were anyone else, Simon would seem busy. But, as it were, he is not, and Simon is simply rearranging a stack of papers he will now have to arrange all over again after they have hung up.

“Simon,” Raphael snaps, though there is no malice to it. Simon flinches anyway.

“Uh, I don’t know,” he glances nervously at the window, and smile sheepishly when he realizes Raphael is looking at him. “I’m gonna – I’ll go,” he decides.

“A wise idea,” Raphael deadpans, and then hangs up.

Raphael feels as if he’s known this headache his entire life.

Magnus is looking at him when it’s all said and done, an indecipherable expression on his face.

Raphael’s brows furrow. “What?” he asks.

Magnus hums. “Perhaps a lunch, if you have time,” he offers.

Raphael’s smile is soft. “For you, I will make it.”

**

It’s Sunday, and his headache should be gone, but it’s not.

He’s asking for his coffee the way he likes it when he hears it.

“Raphael!”

He turns, and he spots Simon walking animatedly up to him, a small, fiery redhead by his side. She looks defensive and curious all at once, as if she’s sizing Raphael up. Raphael raises an eyebrow at her, but her gaze doesn’t waver.

Raphael turns to Simon. “Simon,” he greets, with a tilt of his head. Simon is grinning, and Raphael thinks he looks stupid. He turns to the redhead. “Clary, I presume.”

Clary and Simon both look equally surprised. “Yeah,” Clary replies. “Yeah, hi. Nice to meet you.”

Raphael returns the sentiment out loud, though he can’t say for sure that is the case. It’s too soon.

When he turns to Simon, he’s still staring at him, slightly in awe. Raphael is annoyed. “What?” he asks. “Do I have something on my face?” A genuine worry. He cannot look anything but impeccable, and so he begins to reach for his cheek.

“No, no,” Simon holds out a hand, as if to stop him, but then seems to think better of it. He drops it. “It’s just – how did you know this was Clary?”

Raphael raises an eyebrow. “I don’t understand,” he says. “Haven’t you mentioned her before?”

Simon blinks. “Like, once,” he says. “Maybe twice.”

Impossible. Raphael remembers hearing about Clary Fray far more times than he is comfortable with. Simon talks about this redhead as if she holds all the secrets of the universe, as if Gods would make exceptions for her if she asked them to, as if she is the earth’s one and only gravitational pull. Looking at her now, Raphael thinks she is nothing extraordinary.

There’s no accounting for taste, he supposes.

“I suppose I’m just lucky it _was_ Clary, then,” he sighs, looking back at Simon, expression blank. “Are you enjoying your Sunday?”

Simon’s expression is the complete opposite of Raphael’s carefully crafted one. It’s filled with emotions Raphael can’t decipher, as they move far too quickly across Simon’s face to be able to tell which is which, and what is which. “Yeah, yeah, it’s good so far,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Hey, have you taken your—”

Oh, this again. “Yes, Simon,” he says, making sure to sound long-suffering. “I _am_ capable of taking care of myself for a day, you know.”

Simon grins, and Raphael hates it. “I’ll know if you’re lying,” he reminds him. “I have them counted.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Raphael says, though there is a smile trying for control of his lips. He also makes a mental note to take his pills as soon as he gets home. “Don’t you have better things to do with your time?”

“You don’t pay me to,” Simon quips. Ridiculous.

His coffee is ready, and so he turns to grab it. When he turns back, Simon is gone and ordering for both himself and Clary, and there is only a tiny redhead in his wake. She’s looking at him, a little suspiciously.

Raphael is careful not to say anything offensive, though it’s in his nature to try, anyway. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” his voice is carefully emotionless.

“You’re wearing him out,” she snaps, and Raphael is taken aback. “Give him some more days off, please,” she urges, glancing towards Simon behind Raphael. Raphael is too stunned to follow her gaze. “Or make sure he eats something other than Pop Tarts once in a while.”

Raphael blinks. “He enjoys those Pop Tarts,” he replies defensively. “The strawberry ones are his favorite.”

Clary throws him a disbelieving look. “Take care of him,” she ignores him. “God knows he takes too much care of you. Return the favor. Okay?”

Raphael is offended. He glances at Simon, who is laughing at something the blushing barista has said, and something funny swirls in his stomach. He takes a sip of his coffee, because it’s probably the lack of anything in it.

He turns back to Clary. “Okay,” he agrees. “You have my word.”

Clary looks satisfied. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

Raphael leaves without a reply.

**

“You’re _hiring_?”

Raphael’s headache is back. He doesn’t look up from the papers he’s editing by hand when he says, “Oh, Simon, yes, please, _do_ barge in at your convenience.”

“You’re hiring my _replacement_?” he sounds angry, and Raphael looks up calmly. Simon looks wild, but there is something in the edge of his expression – Raphael might even go as far as presuming it’s hurt.

“Not your replacement,” he corrects. “Just a second assistant.”

“And, what?” Simons scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like a child throwing a tantrum. “First assistant isn’t good enough for you?”

Raphael looks at him.

“I have – I mean, would they even know – I’ve spent – _years_ , Raphael, trying to – but you’re not even—” Simon seems to be unable to conjure up words correctly.

Taking pity on him, Raphael interrupts. “It’s not your performance that’s the issue,” he explains. “I’m simply trying to get you more time for yourself.”

Simon looks shocked. “ _Why_?” he asks, and Raphael’s slightly alarmed at the fact that he doesn’t seem to find it important to have time to himself.

“Because you count my pills, Simon,” he says. “You know my lawyer better than I do. You’ve had lunch with him before. My mother has more conversations with you than she does with me,” he points out. “And I cannot remember the last time I looked at a calendar, because you’re a walking agenda,” he gestures at Simon. “You have turned into some kind of minion, and I am not comfortable with that. You have to look after yourself.”

Simon looks – actually, Raphael doesn’t know what he looks. There’s a certain expression on his face that is unfamiliar to Raphael. He can’t decipher it, which is unnerving. “You—” he gapes. “I don’t _mind_ —”

“And that’s the thing,” Raphael finally snaps, if only a little. He stands. “You _should_ mind. How are you so comfortable with looking after someone who could probably afford to pay you more than he does and only gives you Sundays off?” He’s genuinely curious. His headache is pounding, now, but he wants to make sense of Simon Lewis. “Someone who put you through—”

“You said you weren’t going to bring that up again,” Simon snaps. Raphael, offended, says nothing. “You were in a bad place and you still _can be_ and I need you to know that I don’t _want_ any more days off. I’m _okay_ with this. I’m okay with what I can get.”

That makes no sense, and Raphael tells him as much.

Simon’s face is flushed. Perhaps he is angrier than he has let on. “What I mean is – just – don’t hire anyone else,” he finally settles on. “I know what I’m doing. Okay? Don’t presume to know what I need, Raphael.” His eyes are dark, and something settles strangely in Raphael’s stomach.

Though perhaps lower, if he lets himself think about it.

“You presume to know what I need all the time,” Raphael points out. Simon breathes a laugh.

“I _do_ know what you need,” he reminds him. “It’s you who doesn’t understand.”

And he’s right. He doesn’t.

Simon makes a frustrated noise.

“Don’t hire anyone else,” he warns. Preposterous, that Simon thinks he can fish out orders to his boss this way.

“Fine,” Raphael agrees, but of his own free will, and let it be known that this was his decision only. “But you must start eating something other than Pop Tarts.”

Simon looks confused. “Okay?”

“Good,” Raphael is satisfied. He sits back down, grabs the pen he was using before and starts editing once more. “Close the door behind you.”

Though Simon stays in the room for about two more minutes, Raphael doesn’t look up once. Finally, he hears footsteps retreating, and hears his door _click_ almost silently closed.

Raphael lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

His heart is racing, and he says to it, _stop it_.

And his heart replies with mocking laughter, saying, _you first_.

**

“I don’t know why you have to do lunch with Magnus Bane,” Simon sounds stressed, and Raphael is watching him type furiously into his phone. “Today, of all days. You’re _booked_.”

“It’s his only day off,” Raphael says. “Besides, all the other meetings can wait, can’t they?”

Simon grunts. “They’re gonna have to, apparently,” he mutters darkly. “What’s so special about _Magnus Bane_ , anyway?”

Raphael hums in reply. “He’s a brilliant businessman, you know.”

“ _You’re_ a brilliant businessman,” Simon replies instantly, still typing quickly into his phone. Raphael does not preen. “Maybe _he_ should put some meetings off to have lunch with you. Drive _his_ assistant crazy.”

“If you’d let me hire another assistant like I’d originally planned, maybe you wouldn’t be driven crazy,” he points out, amused.

Simon looks up from his phone and glares. “Shut it, you,” he says, and looks back down.

“You’ll stay for lunch with us, right?”

Simon freezes, and Raphael is worried he’s said something wrong, for a moment. He looks back up, and blinks. “W-what?” he stammers. “You want me to—”

Raphael is suddenly hot. “Did you think you were going to hang back in the hostess stand while I finished?” he snaps, far more aggressive than he intends to. Simon, however, looks unperturbed.

“I thought this was, a, uh,” he clears his throat. “I thought you two were, uhm.”

Raphael raises an eyebrow. Simon blushes.

Raphael’s headache intensifies.

“He’s bringing his boyfriend along to lunch, Simon,” he sighs irritably. “I’d rather not be the pitiful third wheel, if you don’t mind.”

Simon’s face clears. “Well,” he clears his throat once more. “I mean. He _is_ a brilliant businessman,” he teases. “I guess I can spare a lunch with him.”

Raphael doesn’t know why, but he smiles.

**

Alexander “call me Alec” Lightwood seems to like Raphael just fine, but seems to despair of Simon.

So, on principle, Raphael doesn’t entertain him as much as he should.

Magnus, on the other hand, seems endlessly amused by Simon. Simon will say one thing or another, and Magnus will listen with a fascinated expression on his face, as if he’s never quite met anyone like Simon. And Raphael is willing to bet he hasn’t.

In a moment quite like this one, where Magnus and Simon are entertained with each other’s anecdotes, Alec turns to Raphael. “I don’t get him,” he says, and Raphael levels him with a blank stare. “Please explain him to me.”

Raphael glances at Simon, who is animatedly recounting an office tale. “What do you know about Magnus, Alec?” he asks, turning back to look at his friend’s boyfriend.

Alec, obviously caught off guard by the question, replies, “Everything.” He sounds sincere and confident. Raphael believes him.

“Yes,” he nods. “Exactly.”

Alec seems to not understand, but he doesn’t push it. “Are you okay?” he asks instead.

Raphael offers him a smile. “Headache,” he explains.

Alec nods. “Oh,” he pauses. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I have one every day.”

Alec looks as alarmed as Magnus had the day Raphael told him the same. Raphael waves him off. “It’s nothing major,” he promises. “I checked.”

Alec relaxes. “Oh,” he says again. “Maybe you’re stressed.”

“Maybe.”

“Or repressed.”

“May—” he stops, then turns an offended look on Alec. “Excuse me?”

Alec shrugs, obviously unaware that he’s just insulted Raphael, inexplicably. “You know. Denial causes headaches. Too much effort into shutting something out, and all of that,” he frowns. “I learned about it in psych class.”

Raphael stares at him, unsure of what his expression conveys at the moment.

Alec looks puzzled, but then he relaxes, as if comprehending. “I get him now,” he switches back to their previous topic. “Don’t particularly _like_ him, though.”

Raphael is careful not to say what he’s thinking, then. He’s quiet for the rest of the meal.

**

In the darkest depths of his memories, snapshots.

Looking at the new assistant he’d only just hired and at his worried expression and feeling the way he clutched at him like a lifeline.

Feeling the breath of what was just a stranger on the side of his face and listening to his pleading words, feeling the warmth of his arms around him.

His name, spoken over and over, informal and without permission but the only thing keeping him grounded.

 _Saved_ , he remembers, and it’s a whisper in the dark while unconscious, every night. _Saved_.

**

Magnus is over at his house one Sunday, and he’s going through some paperwork.

“Do you care for your employees, Raphael?” he asks, and Raphael, who’d been staring lifelessly at an empty vase, looks over at Magnus in surprise.

“Of course,” he replies, because his employees are his lifeline, his employees keep his company turning. Every major decision he makes starts and ends with his employees.

Magnus nods. “I thought so,” he hums. “Perhaps a merger, if you have time.”

Raphael is quiet for a moment. Magnus must know the implication of what he’s offering. He must. And yet, here he is, casual and calm and collected as ever, offering it to Raphael on a silver platter. A merger – two powerful companies, two lifelong friends.

Magnus finally looks at him.

Raphael smiles. “For you,” he says quietly. “I will make it.”

**

Simon is thrilled when Raphael mentions it on Monday, and Raphael doesn’t let himself get caught up in Simon’s brilliant smile.

“ _This_ is the kind of business you want to partner with,” Simon is vibrating with excitement, and Raphael only looks at him, an appropriately-sized smile on his face. “This is _so_ great, Raphael. Shit, it’s so awesome.” He hands Raphael his pills and his glass of water. Raphael tries to remember the last time he poured his own glass of water.

“And you will get less hours to work,” he reminds him. “Without having to share your position.”

Simon blushes. “Yeah, I guess,” he mutters. Raphael doesn’t know why this doesn’t bring him as much joy as the rest of the news. Before he can ask, however: “That reminds me! I, uh, I can’t come into work tomorrow,” he bites his bottom lip and Raphael is careful not to follow the movement.

Instead, his eyebrows rise. “And why is that?”

“Clary’s birthday,” he explains, and Raphael’s expression stays carefully blank. “I’ve got this whole big surprise planned for her and – should I have lied and called in sick tomorrow?” he laughs weakly.

Raphael has a temporary moment of insanity in which he wants to deny Simon’s request and keep him by his side, despite how important this obviously is to him. He wants to dispense of his morals and demand he forget about his small little redheaded friend and tend to him all day tomorrow.

He doesn’t. “No,” he says. “You may have the day off.”

Simon’s answering smile is brilliant.

Raphael’s headache is unbearable.

**

When he comes to work the next morning, the small, blonde girl he’d chewed out before is sitting at Simon’s desk. “Mr. Santiago,” she greets him nervously. Raphael isn’t used to hearing someone address him so formally on his floor, so he’s taken aback momentarily. “Simon asked me to fill in for him today. I’m—”

“Cora, yes,” Raphael knows her name, he’s not incompetent. “Do you have the morning reports?”

Cora looks surprised, but only for a second, before she scrambles for the reports and hands them to her. “Here,” she squeaks. Raphael takes them from her.

“Coffee?” he asks, and there, too, in his other hand now.

Raphael looks at her evenly. “Very well,” he says, and walks back into his office.

**

The day is uneventful.

**

Some time the next week, Simon knocks on his door.

“Come in,” Raphael says. He hasn’t slept for a couple of days, but, to be fair, neither has Magnus, as they’ve both been pouring over the details of the merger with the rest of their board.

Simon comes in, and he looks nervous. “I—” he fidgets. Finally, he moves, and he leaves something on Raphael’s desk.

Raphael stares at the paper. “What is this?” he asks, looking back up at Simon. Simon is staring at his shoes.

“Email from your psychiatrist,” he mutters. Raphael stiffens.

“And?” This is probably why Raphael shouldn’t have given Simon access to his personal email.

Simon looks at him. “You’ve been skipping out on your sessions,” he sounds like he’s trying not to sound accusatory, but he’s failing. He looks angry and disappointed and Raphael doesn’t know how to fix that.

“I have been busy,” Raphael says, gesturing towards the mountain of paperwork before him. “I haven’t had the time.”

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “You need to make time for yourself.”

Raphael looks on at Simon, annoyed. “Contrary to what you may believe, you don’t actually dictate what I should and shouldn’t do.”

Simon looks angry. “I’m worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Raphael snaps. His headache, his headache. “Bring me some Tylenol and then do what you need to do. And you are no longer allowed to access my personal email from now on, do you understand?” He looks at Simon expectantly.

Simon grinds his teeth together. “Raphael—”

“ _Do you understand?_ ” Raphael is angry, now, and he can hear it in his voice, can feel it in his posture. Simon looks defeated.

Simon turns back. Raphael is about to let out a relieved breath, but then Simon turns back, and everything is gone in an instant.

“Why don’t you care about yourself?” Simon finally asks. “Why don’t you care that this is killing you?”

“My health is in perfect condition,” Raphael replies through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Simon looks frustrated. “I know this merger is going to be good in the long run, but that doesn’t mean you have to put _yourself_ second,” he insists. “Take a break! Please, please, look at you, Raphael,” he is looking at him, the way Raphael can’t. “ _Nothing_ in this place is more important than your well-being.”

On that, they disagree.

“I don’t have time for your hypocrisy,” Raphael clips, dangerously. Simon looks confused. “You put yourself second to _me_ all the time. And what? What am I supposed to do with that, Simon?” Simon looks stricken, but Raphael does not relent. “How am I supposed to repay you for everything you have done for me if you won’t ever let me take care of you the way you so desperately think you should take care of me?”

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“Your pity is unwelcome here,” he snarls. “I don’t want it. I have never wanted it.”

“You’ve never _had_ it,” Simon laughs mirthlessly. “This isn’t pity, Jesus Christ, Raphael, you’re so – how are you so _blind_?”

Raphael’s head is killing him.

“Don’t,” Raphael warns, fearing what’s coming next.

“How can’t you see that everything I do is because I—”

“Leave,” he snaps, standing. He is shaking, in anger, in fear. “Now.”

Simon looks broken and lost. “Raphael—”

“Leave,” he fumes. “And don’t come back until you are being reasonable.”

Simon seems to understand, but Raphael knows he doesn’t. He can’t. Simon shakes his head, and he looks sad, and he looks broken, and Raphael can’t fix him. Raphael is not deserving of what Simon is when he is whole – Raphael isn’t deserving of what Simon is when he is broken.

He turns, and he leaves.

Raphael’s headache is gone.

**

Days pass, and he gets to know Cora in a professional level.

His headache is still gone.

**

Sometimes, he misses it.

**

Magnus drapes a hand over his own. Raphael doesn’t realize it’s been shaking.

His eyes snap to Magnus’s. “What is it?” he asks.

“We sign the merger tomorrow,” he reminds Raphael, as if he doesn’t know, as if this isn’t all he’s been focusing on for days and days and days. “And I have not once seen you smile.”

His smile left his office, some days back, broken and dejected.

Raphael attempts a smile, to no avail. Magnus smiles ruefully. Alec is watching the both of them, sitting beside Magnus.

Magnus takes his hand back. “I’ll be back,” he announces, and he stands, and he leaves the room.

Alec looks at Raphael. “How’s your headache?” he asks.

Raphael looks down. “Gone,” he replies.

Alec stays quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” Raphael can hear his nod. “I thought so.”

Raphael doesn’t reply.

For a moment, everything is quiet, and then everything is far too loud when Alec says, “Once, I thought I was better off without Magnus,” he tells him.

Raphael looks up. He says nothing, but he supposes his eyes are curious, because Alec continues. “I thought I was better off without this part of me. Like—” he makes a sound. “Like if I could just bury it for the rest of my life, pretend it didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

Still, Raphael says nothing.

“You can, though,” Alec continues, sounding wistful. “It’s this hole inside of you that just starts eating you up, and it’s disturbing and it hurts, _God_ , it hurts, and then when you finally let it talk to you it feels—” A pause. “Liberating, I guess.”

“And how,” Raphael clears his throat, feeling his voice too raw. “How did you cope without Magnus?”

Alec’s smile is sad. “I didn’t.”

“And when you had him?”

Alec looks out the window, and there, Magnus, chatting animatedly with a shorter blonde. He looks normal, but when Raphael sees Alec, it’s as if he’s looking directly into the sun. “It’s weird,” he muses. “Nothing about me changed, not really. I still consider myself stubborn,” he says proudly. “And I’m still the person I was before him. Just – happier,” he nods. “He can’t fix everything about me. He doesn’t try. He doesn’t complete me,” he explains. “Just kinda – complements me.”

Raphael’s stomach swirls. “And how do you know,” he states, afraid to question.

Alec raises an eyebrow. “You know how I know everything about him?”

Raphael nods. “He brags about it incessantly.”

Alec nods, too. “But he always conveniently forgets to mention he knows everything about me, too,” he explains. “And maybe that’s how you know.”

**

Raphael knows that Simon’s favorite Pop Tart is strawberry. He’s seen the face he makes at the chocolate one, and knows that he despairs of it.

Raphael knows that Simon was once in love with Clary. He knows, now, that that is no longer, but he was, once, and he never pushed her into anything more.

Raphael knows that Simon helped his week-old boss from a slump he’d never signed up for, and continued to help him for years and years until he saw progress.

Raphael knows that Simon’s had the same glasses since high school.

Raphael knows that Simon’s favorite color is blue, and that he loves to learn about any subject that is presented to him, and that he is passionate and kind and he cares far, far more than any human being should.

Raphael knows that Simon is a far better person than he.

Raphael knows that Simon deserves better than whatever shell Raphael has forged of himself.

But he knows Simon can make his own decisions, too, and maybe, maybe, that’s what propels him forward.

**

When Simon opens the door to his apartment, he looks shocked.

Raphael gives him a look. “Do you not check the peephole before you open the door?” he asks.

Simon blinks. “No?” he sounds small, looks even smaller.

“That’s stupid,” he says. Simon blinks again.

He waits for a reaction, but gets none.

“I haven’t been taking my pills,” he says casually, and that gets him the reaction he wants.

Simon looks stormy. “You _idiot_ ,” he scoffs, then shakes his head. “I mean – you – I can’t believe—”

Raphael holds up a quelling hand. “Please, if you’ll just let me speak,” he says.

Simon scowls.

“It appears,” Raphael sighs deeply. “That I have _feelings_ for you.”

Simon says nothing. His scowl clears, however, and he looks shocked. As if the admission is something he’d never expected to hear.

“It’s a problem. And, as you know, you’re usually the one who fixes all of my problems, but you haven’t been around lately, so now I’m here,” he looks at Simon evenly. “Asking you to fix this.”

Simon makes a strangled sound. Shakes his head. “I don’t want to,” he says, stubbornly.

Raphael’s lips twitch. “You’re insufferable,” he says, fondly. “But you saved my life, once,” he continues. “And you saved it every day thereafter. And I had no idea how to deal with that, because, usually – I’m the caretaker. And you – no offense, but you simply don’t carry yourself the way a caretaker would,” he jokes lightly. “I could take care of my company. I could take care of my employees. But I couldn’t take care of you.” He bows his head. “I’m sorry.”

There is a silence between them that is tangible, and he wishes he could disappear inside of it. Perhaps, there, peace.

Then there is a hand on his own, and fingers lacing there. Raphael stiffens, the feeling strange and new. He looks up, and Simon is looking at him, toothy smile and all. He looks stupid, Raphael decides, even as his heart flips and falls, falls, falls.

“That’s _why_ I took care of you, stupid,” he rolls his eyes. “You spent too much time caring about everyone else you forgot – you’re important, too,” he swallows. “You forgot it so completely that you thought we’d be better off without you and I—” Simons huffs. “Just wanted to show you that’s not true.”

Raphael looks at him. For once, when his heart is whispering to him, he doesn’t tell it to quiet down. He lets it speak.

“You can’t fix me,” Raphael reminds Simon sadly. “This is an internal battle I face day by day on my own.”

“I know,” Simon agrees quickly. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little extra wind to help you sail, right?”

Raphael smiles, and for once, it’s soft, and it’s bright.

“No,” he replies. “I suppose not.”

**

Raphael feels as if he’s known this headache his entire life.

And when he kisses Simon, it’s as if it dissipates, and when it’s gone, it is free, and his lips moving with Simon’s feels different. It feels right. It doesn’t feel like a solution, but it feels like an incentive.

The kiss is shy and clumsy, all of the things that Simon embodies, and Raphael loves every second of it.

**

Raphael feels as if he’s known this headache his entire life.

And, for once, he is excited to keep knowing it.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](http://www.westiris.tumblr.com) for the good times and the laughs
> 
> kudos and comments, as always, are greatly appreciated. they water my plants and feed my family


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